The fear of being deceived is the vulgar version of the quest for Truth.

Chaos is rejecting all you have learned, chaos is being yourself.

No one recovers from the disease of being born, a deadly wound if there ever was one.

Impossible to spend sleepless nights and accomplish anything: if, in my youth, my parents had not financed my insomnias, I should surely have killed myself.

We die in proportion to the words we fling around us.

Intelligence flourishes only in the ages when belief withers.